


Just What I Needed

by kittenCorrosion



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Life Lessons, el bonding with everyone tbh, first off is lucas and el being cuties, hop and el bonding, i'll put dates in each chapter/story, that's why all the tags are there sorry there's a lot, there will be a mileven story too, these are gonna be all over the place sorry, they're cute though!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenCorrosion/pseuds/kittenCorrosion
Summary: El is back but she still doesn't understand everything about the world. Thankfully she has plenty of people to show her the way.A series of one-shots in which El is taught various things by various people. Will cross my timeline all over the place so there will be teens but it will be mostly kids.





	1. Dancing with Myself

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the first thing i've ever written that isn't purely mileven. 
> 
> it started out as just a cute lil lucas and el friendship story but then more and more ideas came into my mind so here it is. can't promise there will be regular updates but when i'm hit with inspiration i'll pop out another one. 
> 
> in the wake of the stranger things 2 trailer, i think we could all use a little happiness, so that's the goal of this. tiny little bursts of happiness to sustain the terror and suffering that will be happening in nINE MONTHS. I'M NOT BITTER. ANYWAYS.
> 
> honestly i'm excited and i hope you'll like all my little blurbs!
> 
> p.s. i'm still open to prompts. so far everyone tagged i have an idea for, but i'm open to other ideas too!

December 1984

 

El worried at her lip for a few more seconds before reaching over and ringing the doorbell. Tugging at her red and white plaid dress self-consciously, she tried to reassure herself that she didn’t need to be nervous, that this wasn’t even the first time she’d come over to Lucas’s house, and that she was there for something important.

The door opened and a tall, dark-skinned man looked down at her for a few seconds before breaking out into a wide, familiar grin. He looked so much like Lucas that she relaxed a bit and smiled back, offering a wave, still too nervous to talk.

“You’re El, right?” He offered his hand and she shook it, the warm, firm grip comforting. “I’m Wayne, Lucas’s dad. He mentioned you were coming over.”

With a smile he welcomed her in and she relaxed completely, looking around at the tidy entryway as she entered the house, noticing the military jacket that hung proudly on it’s hook and how the shoes were lined up in order of size. Getting the hint, she carefully slid off her black Mary Janes and put them at the end of the row, since they were the smaller than the battered pair of tennis shoes she knew belonged to Lucas. Mr. Sinclair—she remembered that Mike had told her to call him that if she ever met him—smiled at her appreciatively and she finally gathered the courage to make herself speak.

“Th-thank you. Um, Lucas?” Her voice was small but steady.

“In the living room, picking out some records,” he pointed towards the end of the hall which opened into the living room, “he said he if he was going to teach you dance, it was going to be to good music.”

The older man smiled broadly again.

“He’s been at it for almost an hour now. Maybe you could help him out.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. El didn’t understand but she smiled and nodded anyways. He continued, “If you kids need anything I’ll be in the basement.”

With a final cheerful smile he opened a door that lead downstairs and disappeared, leaving El blinking, a bit dazed, after him. So he’d told his dad why she was coming over. Her face flushed a slight pink in embarrassment.

Her anxiety had started last week, when, upon realizing the Snow Ball was only two weekends away, she had worryingly asked Will what exactly dancing was. He’d explained pretty well, but when she’d begged him to teach her he’d shook his head, stating “I can’t really dance either”. Her disappointment had been palpable so he’d suggested she ask Lucas, since “he’s the only who can really dance anyways”. It took her a few days to bolster her courage, but she’d finally called the Sinclair household and confessed her fear to her friend, who had agreed to teach her on the condition she promised to keep it a secret from the others. Wanting to keep it a surprise for Mike anyways, she’d agreed easily, and now here she was.

El turned and headed down the hallway to the living room, her stockinged feet quiet on the thick carpet, coming up behind Lucas almost silently. He was kneeling in front of a large box, sifting through records, occasionally picking one up and making a face before putting it back in. There was a small pile of them next to him.

“What are those?”

He nearly jumped a foot in the air, whirling around and glaring at her.

“Jeez, El, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry,” she giggled a bit, his reaction admittedly quite funny, but pointed at the records again still curious, “but what are they?”

He stood without bothering to answer her, grabbing the small pile he’d picked out and walking across the living room to a large box that sat on a table next to the couch. It kind of looked like radio, but then he lifted the lid and El was surprised to see a circle inside, with a weird stick thing, and watched, eyes wide with wonder, as Lucas slid another black circular thing out of the cardboard square he was holding. With practiced precision he flipped it, making sure to only touch the edges, and then set it inside of the box, flicking a few switches before gently moving the stick over it and pushing down.

The living room came alive with music, something upbeat and happy, and El smiled. Lucas finally turned to face her, smirking at her reaction and finally offering an explanation.

“You know how Jonathan has his boombox and mixtapes and stuff? Well this,” he gestured to the record player, “came before those things. It’s a record player and these,” he now gestured to the pile of records, “are the records. It’s another way to play music, basically.”

“I like it,” she said, curiously picking up the sleeve of the record he’d put in.

Five young, black men smiled up at her, their hair in large afros. She had no idea who they were, but decided she liked them, they looked nice and the music that was playing made her happy. Lucas came up next to her and grinned.

“I thought we’d start with something easy. The Jackson 5 is classic,” he pointed to youngest boy on the record, “and that’s Michael Jackson before he went solo. These are his brothers, Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon.” He pointed to each one as he said their name.

El knew Michael Jackson. A lot of his songs played on the radio, and during Halloween that year she had heard “Thriller” at least a million times. She liked his voice and even knew the words to “Beat It”, but she had never heard of the Jackson 5. The song that was playing was fun though, and she started bobbing her head to the beat.

 

_“A B C_

_It's easy as, 1 2 3_

_As simple as, do re mi...”_

 

“So you’ve never danced, _ever_? Doesn’t Jonathan make you guys mixtapes? How do you not dance to that?”

He’d already started swaying with music and El shrugged, gently setting the sleeve back down and then turning to face him.

“Um, maybe? Sometimes…” she couldn’t resist the beat either, following his movements with her shoulders a bit, “sometimes Will jumps… so I do too.”

She illustrated her words by jumping up and down to the music, bouncing around the living room and giggling. Will said it wasn’t really dancing but Lucas joined her, adding little hand movements and shoulder shimmies to what she was doing.

“That’s a kind of dancing!” He was grinning and she grinned back, encouraged.

“Really?”

He nodded and they kept going, playfully chasing each other around the room as they danced and hopped. When the song ended they both collapsed on the couch, out of breath. El looked at him, panting, eyes wide.

“That’s dancing?”

“Well, I mean, that’s one kind of it. There’s lots.”

He headed over to the record player and switched out the record for another, something with a psychedelic cover. This time the music was more funky, the disco beat thumping through the living room.

 

_“Do you remember the_

_21st night of September?_

_Love was changing the minds of pretenders_

_While chasing the clouds away...”_

 

Lucas stood and started to move his hips, taking careful steps and pointing his finger in the air, moving it up and down. El tried not to giggle, thinking it looked funny. He sashayed his way over to her, pulling her up from the couch.

“This is called disco.” He was moving expertly, his shoulders dipping up and down in time to the beat. She attempted to match his movements and he nodded his head encouragingly.

“My dad really likes it, I guess him and my mom used to go out a lot back when disco was popular,” he explained, pointing at a picture that sat on the mantle.

El danced her way over to it, looking at the faded photo. Lucas’s dad had the same smile, but his hair was in a big afro, wearing pants with wide bottoms. She blinked, trying to connect how that could be same person who answered the door. Next to him was lithe, younger woman, wearing a jumpsuit, her hair even bigger than his.

“They have big hair,” she looked at Lucas curiously, “can your hair do that too?”

He snorted, amused. “Probably. If I grew it out. But I wouldn’t want to.”

The song changed, synthesizers blaring, making El jump a bit in surprise. Lucas went over to the record player to change it, but El went over to the box of records instead of following him. She started sorting through them, looking at the brightly-colored covers and reading the names softly to herself. Al Jarreau, Aretha Franklin, Bobby Brown, Diana Ross, Earth, Wind & Fire… she paused at the picture of a beautiful woman with blonde hair in an updo. Pulling it out she turned it over in her hands.

“Careful! Those are in alphabetical order.”

Lucas’s voice made her look over her shoulder towards him, face scrunched up in confusion. He paused the music and came over to her.

“What’s alpha-bet-uncle?”

“Alphabetical. In order of the alphabet, you know?”

“Oh.”

She definitely knew the alphabet, but she hadn’t realized that you could organize things using it. Nothing at the Byers house was particularly organized, and Karen had her household arranged more by convenience. Lucas seemed to realize that but shrugged it off, instead reaching for the record in her hands. He looked at it with a sigh.

“Aw, man, Etta James is… that’s my mom’s. I mean, she’s a good singer, but, that’s music for… slow-dancing.”

“Slow-dancing?”

“Yeah… it’s the kind of dancing you do during slow songs. Um,” his face darkened a bit with a blush, “you usually do that with someone you like. Or… a crush, you know.”

He knew she knew. That word had been explained to her a few months ago after some mean girls had accused her of interfering with another girl’s crush on Lucas. His face burned just thinking about it. Unlike Mike, he liked to keep his personal feelings to himself, and just the thought of the teasing laughter that had followed him after that discovery made him want crawl into a hole. It hadn’t even been his crush, just some dumb girl’s one on him, but Dustin had made sure that Lucas would _never_ live it down.

“So, um, I’m going to… slow-dance? At the Snow Ball?”

He turned back to her and shrugged non-committedly, not wanting to promise something that was kind of out of his control.

“I dunno. I mean if Mike wants to…” he smirked knowingly, picturing his awkward friend trying to ask her to dance, “he might chicken out though.”

El took that thought in and gnawed at her lip again, staring contemplatively into the air. She seemed to make up her mind about something and then nodded agreeingly.

“Okay. Teach me slow-dance."

“Wha– No! El, I can’t… I can’t do that.”

She crossed her arms and pouted at him, slightly upset that he didn’t see the seriousness of the situation.

“You _have_ to. If Mike chickens… I have to make him do it,” she switched tactics and begged, eyes wide and pleading “I want to slow-dance. _Please_. Lucas.”

He let his head drop back, sighing dramatically and grumping a bit as he realized that he wouldn’t win this battle and also that she had a valid point. He huffed but walked over to the record player, still holding Etta James carefully. Swapping out the records easily he turned around and headed back over to her as swanky violin music filled the room.

 

“ _Aaaaat laaaaaast_

_My love has come along_

_My lonely days are over_

_And life is like a song”_

 

The song was familiar to Lucas, but usually when he heard it he would find his parents swaying slowly together in the kitchen. It was one of those weird parent things that was nice but also made him feel kind of weird. He grumbled non-committedly under his breath as he got closer to her before trying to explain.

“Okay, so, you have to get kind of close to whoever you’re dancing with,” he told her as he stood even closer, not wanting to freak her out, “and then, uh, you put your arms up around his neck, um, Mike’s I mean,” he guided her arms up, picturing what his parents would do since that was the only slow-dancing he was familiar with, “and then he’ll put his arms here, or, well, he should, you might have to help him since he’s so… awkward,” he set his hands on her waist carefully, making sure they were in a respectful place, “and then you kind of just... sway.”

He led, gently swaying back and forth to the slow beat, staring over her shoulder, not wanting to make eye contact. He knew he was blushing, but he was glad she wouldn’t really be able to tell, he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. To be fair, he’d never actually slow-danced before either, so while he felt awkward and out of place, he couldn’t help but admit it was nice.

El was quiet, focusing on her feet, trying to listen to the music and get the hang of making sure she was swaying to the rhythm. She imagined being with Mike, arms around his neck, and couldn’t help but a flush a bit. If he tried to chicken out she was definitely going to make him slow-dance with her. It was… nice.

They danced a bit longer before the song ended and Lucas cleared his throat, letting his arms fall away from her waist and she did the same, finally making eye contact. She was grinning widely, looking satisfied if not a bit embarrassed

“Thank you, Lucas!”

Her pure gratitude and happiness made up for the awkwardness she’d put him through and he smiled back, nonchalantly shrugging it off.

“It’s no biggie.”

There was a pause where they just kind of smiled at each other and then El looked puzzled.

“So that’s all the kinds of dancing?”

“Huh? No! No way, that was like three, hang on…”

The next hour was spent teaching her several other types of dancing, specifically to different kinds of music that would most likely be played at the dance. Lucas tried to cover as much as possible. Since he’d never been to dance either, he had to guess what they would play. By the end of it they were both tired and sweaty and El’s face was flushed a bright pink. The last song had been the most fun, a quick Billy Joel song that they jived to, holding onto each other’s hand and leaning back to balance as their feet stomped the ground. She was a quick learner, no where near as smooth as he was, but pretty nimble nonetheless.

The worry that had been gnawing her stomach for a week was gone, and she was no longer afraid of embarrassing herself, or Mike, at the dance. In fact, she was even more excited than she had been before. She glanced over at Lucas, trying to think of a way to say thank you that was special but she failed and instead just smiled at him and then gently rested her head on his shoulder, trying to say without words how grateful she was.

He got the message pretty easily, patting her hand to show he understood. They rested like that for a few heartbeats until El pulled back, turning to look at him, face timid.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“Um… do you think… my dancing will make Mike… happy?”

Her eyes were vulnerable but Lucas couldn’t keep in his cynical snort at her ridiculous question.

“El, I’m pretty sure you could dance like a dying hippopotamus and it would make Mike happy.”

Her face scrunched up again, not able to wrap her mind around the metaphor and he sighed, trying to remember to keep it simple.

“What I meant… as long you’re you and you’re with Mike, he’s gonna be happy. So don’t worry too much,” he grinned then, reaching over and patting her shoulder, “and if you feel really bad just dance next to Dustin. Everybody looks better dancing next to him.”

He couldn’t keep from snickering at his own joke and El joined him even though she didn’t really understand. There was a pause and then her stomach growled loudly, surprising both of them and causing Lucas to snicker again.

“You hungry?”

“Um…”

Her stomach rumbled again, answering for her and she smiled sheepishly. Lucas stood, heading for the hallway, beckoning her towards the kitchen with a knowing grin.

“Well, come on. Let’s get a snack.”

She followed him easily, eyes bright, and he looked over his shoulder at her and smirked as they entered the kitchen.

“I think we have a box of blueberry Eggos in the freezer.”

  
Her smile lit up the entire room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first story that came to me. my fellow tumblrs were pointing out the lack of lucas love and i had to agree. honestly, he's kind of my favorite to write, like he just comes out really easy and i really don't understand why he doesn't get more appreciation.
> 
> so anyways i wrote this. it made sense in my mind and i wanted to play with a lucas&el friend dynamic cause it's less common. 
> 
> comments are beloved. kudos are appreciated. validate me, i have no shame. <3


	2. Eye of the Tiger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i'm back with something that got way more emotionally heavy than i intended. sorry.
> 
> it's not severe angst or anything, but i just had to get something that's been bothering me out of my system so it went from being hella cute to kinda cute with some emotional stuff and then kind of cute again.
> 
> if you catch the hamilton reference i'll give you a gold star.

Mid Summer 1984

 

The entire gymnasium smelled like stale sweat and old, dusty basketballs. The ancient bleachers creaked as El sat down on them, making her glance down the structure with sudden unease, wondering if it would be safer to stand as she waited. It was still dark, Hop was trying to find the light switches that would bring the powerful, overhead lights to life, the familiar low hum missing in the high school’s vacant gym.

_Crash! Thunk, thunk, thunk..._

El sat up attentively at the sound, hearing muffled swearing coming from the storage room where Hop had disappeared. He had told her to stay put but she was too worried and quickly scurried across the laminated floor towards the door, tentatively pushing it open and immediately sneezing on the huge cloud of dust that filled the room.

“Bless you,” Hop said from where he was standing in the corner.

He crouched down next to an overturned cart of basketballs, attempting to fix the wheel he had busted when he tripped over it and gather the rolling balls at the same time. She giggled a bit, unable to find the disgruntled look on his face and mess around him anything less than comical, and he looked even more vexed at her laughter.

“Well, since you’re here,” his voice was dry,  “try and find the light switches, they should be somewhere on that wall,” he pointed at it before kneeling back down to fix the wheel, “because now I gotta try and fix this this piece of shi–Er, I mean this… stupid thing!”

The irritation on his face was visible as he fidgeted with the wheel, but El said nothing, as usual, just nodding before carefully skirting around the other carts and heading for the wall. There was a strong electrical hum further in the corner, behind the hanging punching bags, and she slid between them slowly as she followed the sound. A large metal breaker box was in the corner, the door on the front cracked a bit so it wouldn’t lock on accident. With careful hands she opened it, staring at the rows and rows of switches, each one labeled with a strip of faded, yellow paper. She had to squint to read them, but the word “gymnasium” finally caught her eye and with tentative fingers she reached out and flipped the switches.

A buzzing filled the air and she felt goosebumps rise on her skin. Large power sources could do that sometimes, the electricity buzzing in her head and making her powers hum in her skull a bit unpleasantly. She shook the static from her mind and quickly backed away from the breaker box.

Squeezing back out of the corner she found Hop standing in the doorway, staring out at the gym that was now slowly being filled with light. She noticed the broken cart shoved into the back of the room, behind the other ones, and smirked at his apparent solution.

“Good job, kid, you found it.”

“I followed the buzzing.”

He glanced down at her as she came up next to him, eyes full of approval

It had been his idea to come here. A few days earlier both him and Joyce had sat her down to talk about the dangers of her powers being discovered. Basic rules about not using them in public under any circumstances, and maybe not being so flippant about them at home or at the Wheelers’ either. During her weeks of bedrest she had made a habit of using her powers to grab things instead of getting up, which had been amusing to watch. After she regained her strength it had turned into floating Joyce’s “lost” keys to her or Will’s spilled pencils back into their case or even, more recently, gathering ingredients for baking cookies with Karen and Holly. It was harmless, and they knew that, but there was unspoken fear that she would accidentally do it in front of someone who didn’t know the secret. The worry had been visible in their eyes, she had almost been able to taste their apprehension in the back of her throat, so she had nodded in agreement, trying to be more conscious of her invisible helping hand.

But she hadn’t been able to hide her sudden anxiety at the thought of being powerless, and when Hop asked what was wrong she had managed to say, “What if Bad Men… come back? Or mouthbreathers?”

There was a vivid image of certain day at the quarry in her mind, but he had smiled at her, eyes glimmering, and said, “Kid, there are plenty of ways to defend yourself without any mind magic”. And now here they were, at Hawkins High School on a sunny, Sunday afternoon in the deserted gym, knuckles taped in preparation. He was going to teach her one of the things he did best– how to punch the lights out of someone.

“Here, help me get one of the bags,” he said firmly, and she complied, quickly heading back over the heavy, hanging punching bags.

He picked one that was fairly worn, the leather cracking a bit around the middle where it had been repeatedly beat. They both gave it push and then shuddered as the wheels shrieked, wearing matching grimaces at the grating, high-pitched sound.

“Could use a little oil,” he mumbled gruffly, more to himself than to her.

El resisted the urge to just float the damn thing out, figuring that would kind of ruin the point of her being there in the first place, but as the wheels screeched slowly along the floor she finally gave in and ever so lightly relieved some pressure off the structure. Hop easily finished moving it out into the center of the gym and she discreetly wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smudging the small drip of blood into her denim shorts before turning to face the now, slightly less disgruntled chief of police.

“Alright kid, you ready?”

“Um… y-yes,” she stammered, not sounding too sure.

He glanced at her. “Why don’t I, ah, show you real quick. Before you try.”

She nodded, eyes wide and curious, hands clasped tightly in front of her, still looking a bit apprehensive as she cocked a hip and waited for his demonstration. He squared up to the punching bag, expertly lifting his hands to his chin. He felt a bit self-conscious all of the sudden, quickly squelching the emotion with an annoyed snort. Like he should be nervous about a twelve-year-old watching him.

Each punch hit the bag with a solid _thud_ , his fists moving in lightning fast streaks as they hit the already cracked leather, making the entire bag shudder. El’s eyes widened in amazement, impressed by his speed and accuracy. After a few more hits he lowered his fists, relaxing, and turned to face her, breathing a little more heavily. It had been a few years since he’d hit an actual bag instead of a face and it took more effort than he remembered.

“You don’t have to be that accurate, you’re just starting but,” he had to pause to breathe, cursing himself for being so out of shape, “you want to at least try and have a similar approach, alright?”

She was still unsure about this whole thing, learning to hurt with her fists. If it wasn’t so important to keep her powers hidden she probably wouldn’t bother with any of this, this new form of self-defense. But it wasn’t just for her. The image of a blue-black bruise on Mike’s cheekbone, complete with split lip, was burned into her mind and even though she’d taken care of the bully that had made those marks she knew there would be more. If there were too many of anything in this new world she was learning about… it was bullies.

“Okay,” she nodded, feeling less apprehensive, “teach me.”

He moved to the side, letting her stand in front of the bag, and then raised his fists again like he had before.

“First you gotta get in the stance, bend your knees a little bit, yeah like that,” she was copying him, bringing her small fists up, “bring your fists up higher, not so far under your chin, good, yeah,” he looked down at her feet, “and then just put your dominant foot forward, uh, the one that follows your dominant hand, like…” he knew she was right-handed so he moved over and tapped her right foot with the toe of his boot, “yup, that one.”

She adjusted herself, bouncing a bit in the stance like she’d seen him do, trying not to feel too ridiculous.

“You’re doing great, kid,” he smiled a bit, trying to be encouraging. “We’re gonna start with a basic jab, and then I’ll teach you a hook and we can go from there.”

“Okay.”

“It’s pretty easy, you just want to push off your… uh, back foot,” he was fumbling a bit, realizing it wasn’t as easy to explain as he originally thought, “and, uh, use that force behind your fist. You have to kind of, um… ah, turn your fist when you hit the bag? Like… like this.”

He turned his wrist in corkscrew motion, shifting his fist to get the most impact.

“And make sure your thumb isn’t tucked inside your fist or you’ll break it.”

She quickly untucked her thumbs, giving him a bit of glare for not telling her that first. That seemed like an important detail. With a resolute sigh she turned her head back to the bag, focusing on the dark leather, trying to tell herself that she could do it.

“And… go!”

The bag barely creaked as her small fist collided with it’s heavy weight and she blinked, a bit disappointed that she’d barely made it shiver. She lowered her fists, visibly discouraged, but Hop shook his head.

“Don’t worry about your first one. Do it again.”

She complied, slightly less hesitant, remembering to twist her wrist this time, noticing how the bag shuddered a bit. Hop barked at her to do it again and she did. Again and again and again. After a few more strikes she paused, panting a bit. Her knuckles felt a bit numb and she was suddenly glad he had insisted she wrap them in tape before they left the house.

“Not bad there, Rocky,” he rumbled, a smirk on his face, “you’ve got good follow-through, just remember to push off with your back foot.”

“Okay, thanks.”

After a few more punches he ended up showing her again how to use the momentum from pushing off to put more force behind it. She had good form but he could tell she still wasn’t trying as hard as she could be.

“Don’t be afraid to get a little mad, kid. It can help. Picture someone you don’t like or something, that can get help.”

It was an unusual suggestion and El paused to glance at him. So far in the past few months everyone had tried to help her forget the people she didn’t like, to push them into her past where they belonged, but now Hop was here, telling her to resurrect her ghosts. It was too easy, faces appearing in the cracked lines of leather, mocking grins taunting her as she tried to pound them out of her vision.

Along with the jab, Hop had gone over a hook and now a cross, which she had found a little easier, and was now hitting the bag with a better precision, still sloppy but occasionally getting in a good punch that made the entire bag and frame shudder. She hadn’t expected it to be this satisfying and as the faces came back again she bit her lip and punched harder.

First it was the men who used to carry her to the closet, their passive faces the epitome of uncaring as she would cry and beg, their only answer to her pleas of mercy to whip out their batons. Then it was the lady, the agent who killed Benny, the one who had dared raised a gun to her friends at the school. And then it was Papa, telling her he would take her back, that he would make everything go away, everything good and soft and nice that she had only recently discovered was better than every “reward” he’d ever given her.

And then suddenly it was Hop’s face and she let out a scream that reverberated through the gym, her mind buzzing with her powers that were suddenly pounding in her temples. Her arm reeled back and she pushed off of her back foot, putting all the force of her rage and her mind behind her fist as it collided with the bag.

_Crash!_

The bag flew off the frame, spewing sand from the hole in the middle as the chain snapped, sending the entire contraption across the gym where it landed, a good fifteen feet away.

El suddenly realized she was crying, reaching up to frantically wipe away the tears that streaked down her face. Her entire body felt hot, the anger still pounding in her veins, and she turned to look at Hop, who was staring at her, mouth gaping. She knew why she had seen his face, why it had been him who had pushed her over the edge, but she could barely speak, barely managing to get out the single word to explain what had just happened.

“ _Lando._ ”

The word hung in the air between them like acrid smoke.

“Wha… what?”

His confusion was apparent, he was still stunned by her punching the bag off of its frame, but as he took in what she had said the wires crossed and he gulped. He’d heard that word before, muttered by Dustin in a junkyard bus. He’d seen the movies, he knew who Lando was, but now he realized she knew who _he_ was and he couldn’t stop the guilt that he had been suppressing from overtaking his entire being. Reaching up he grabbed his temples, letting his hand slide down his face as he took in a heavy breath.

“How… how did you find out?”

She looked down at the ground as she wiped the last of the tears off her face.

“Alone. A long time. In Upside Down… thought a lot,” she looked up, fixing her intense gaze on him, “Had to be you. Or Joyce…” she shook her head firmly, thinking about her adoptive mother with a protective fondness, “Not Joyce.”

Her three months in the Upside Down had given her plenty of time to think about the week’s events, and since it contained some of the only good memories she’d ever made, she had thought about it a lot. It didn’t take long to connect the breadcrumbs that led from the lab to the school. The only people who had known her whereabouts other than her friends were Jonathan, Nancy, Joyce, and Hopper. She’d heard the story from Jonathan, of him and Nancy and Steve trying to kill the monster. Couldn’t have been them. Which left Joyce and Hopper. From there it had been obvious.

“I was going to tell you, I swear, kid, I just…” he was grappling for words, being honest but unsure if that would be enough now, “I didn’t know how.”

It was tense, the only sound the low hum of the overhead lights. He couldn’t make himself look at her, the guilt and shame he had been drinking away the past five months since her disappearance suddenly overwhelming him. He’d put it off, telling Joyce and the boys the truth of his deal with Brenner, knowing that it would only cause a rift, unwilling to let them separate themselves from him. After she had come back he thought maybe it didn’t matter anymore, that she was back and Will was back and that’s what was important. But he had been wrong. It clearly mattered to her.

He walked up to her, so quickly she didn’t have time to move away, and then he dropped to one knee in front of her, getting down to her level, face somber.

“Eleven… El, I…” his voice was strained with an avalanche of emotions, “I am so _sorry_.”

She hadn’t been expecting that and looked into his face, meeting his eyes, carefully observing the guilt and regret and shame that haunted his face. It was genuine, she could almost sense his despair, but he continued on before she could respond.

“What I did… it was wrong. I shouldn’t have… I was trying to save Will, and that’s no excuse, but I thought… I didn’t know what else to do,” he couldn’t meet her eyes anymore, looking down at the ground, “You don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to trust me ever again, I know I don’t deserve that, but I just want you to know that I am truly sorry. If I could… if I could go back and keep you safe, I would.”

His hands were at his sides, clenched into tight fists, and he licked his lips nervously as he waited for her response.

She couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t mad at him for what he’d done. The broken punching bag was proof of that. He would have let her be taken back to the lab, back to Papa and dark water and dying animals, back to cold captivity. He let the Bad Men come, the people who would have killed her friends if she hadn’t stopped them and made them bleed their brains out. She couldn’t blame the monster on him, she was the one who had unleashed it, but if he hadn’t told the agents where to find her she wouldn’t have killed them, wouldn’t have let the Demogorgon come back, wouldn’t have let herself explode into a million pieces to save those she cared about most. He was the reason she’d been trapped there, in the unforgiving Upside Down, for three, long, dark, cold months. He was the reason she’d been forced to break the promise.

And now here he was, kneeling in front of her, telling her he was sorry for everything he’d caused, everything his actions had put her through. Telling her would change it if he could.

It was several more heartbeats before she could formulate her answer.

“I... “ her voice was quiet but somehow filled the room and he looked up at her.

“I forgive you,” she said simply.

There was disbelief in his eyes, and she reached forward, carefully patting his shoulder, trying to assure him that he had her correctly. His entire face scrunched up, eyebrows drawn together, almost looking like he was in pain, and when he spoke again his voice was thick with emotion.

“I don’t deserve that.”

She shrugged. Her months in isolation hadn’t been spent only thinking about the wrongdoings, and after she figured out his betrayal she had thought about it carefully. Would she have been able to kill the Demogorgon if it his actions hadn’t created the circumstances? Would it have come back and killed more people? Would it have killed her friends? Her new family?

She would never forget the pain of tearing herself apart, of wandering alone, of missing Mike and wondering if he even knew she was still alive. But that pain had led to the happiness she had now. Her new family and cozy room, the campaigns and movie nights with her friends at the Wheelers’, the gentle hugs and affection and love like nothing she’d ever known before. If the Demogorgon hadn’t killed Papa, if her disappearance hadn’t thrown the government off her tracks, if the deal hadn’t been made and Will was never found alive, would she still be able to have this life? She knew the answer was bleak, and as much as the pain had hurt... she was grateful for it, for leading her here.

“Don’t care. Still forgive you.”

Her hand was still resting on his shoulder and he sagged, unable to understand her decision.

“ _Why?_ Kid… El… you shouldn’t. You don’t have to.”

Her hand dropped to her side and she tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him while she tried to explain.

“Mmm…” she had to gather her words carefully, “Mike said… if good outweighs bad, it’s okay to forgive. Helps to stop hurt.”

Mike had been the one to explain forgiveness. After several weeks of her apologizing for missing the Snow Ball and breaking the promise, he’d sat her down and explained that he didn’t care, that her being back and being safe outweighed missing one dance. That she didn’t need to feel bad anymore because he had forgiven her and that meant he wouldn’t be upset. It was a rough understanding, but she had felt strangely relieved afterwards and now didn’t hesitate to forgive even the smallest “sorry” that was thrown her way. This had taken more time, but her reasoning was fairly sound.

She had watched the way Hop had taken care of her and Joyce and Will, making sure they had enough but doing it so subtly it was almost unnoticeable. He had been the one to help build her bedroom, to help her get new clothes and furniture, to make sure there were always Eggos in the freezer, to drop her off at the Wheelers’ when Joyce had to work or hang out at the house until she got home from her late shift so the kids wouldn’t be alone. Whether he knew it or not, he had been apologizing for months.

Gazing down at him now, where he was kneeling on the floor, she knew what she wanted, where she wanted to go from here.

“No more hurt,” her hand reached out again, still gentle, and rested over the badge that covered his heart, “only happy now. Okay?”

His hand came up, slowly, moving to cover her smaller one, resting there as he took in her words, took in the grace he was being offered, the thing too powerful to name that filled the musty, dust-filled gymnasium.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered, looking down at the floor as his voice broke.

There were no tears, but his hand curled around her smaller one that still rested on his chest, squeezing the taped knuckles with an unspoken gratitude that she accepted with a smile. It was one of those moments that words wouldn’t reach, and instead they both stayed quiet and let the warmth that now surrounded them grow.

It had been awkward these past few months. Hop knew El wasn’t Sarah, he wouldn’t try and pretend that this new addition in his life could ever replace or fill the space that had been left behind. And she wasn’t even his daughter, she was Joyce’s, and he respected that, but she had definitely reawakened something that he hadn’t felt in awhile. The need to protect her, the instinct that he’d overruled in that room alone with Brenner had come back with a vengeance, and now she had forgiven his decision, removing the only barrier that had stood between them.

There were matching sighs of relief from them both, and El smiled her small smile, carefully taking her hand back and clasping it with her other.

“Um, Hop?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Sorry I broke the bag.”

They both looked over at the punching where it lay in a broken mess on the floor. Sand trailed from where it had stood to where it was now, the leather punctured by a solid hole where her fist had connected, the frame bent from the trauma of being hit so hard.

“Eh, no worries. They need to get some new ones anyways…” he got up and headed over to it, taking in the damage, “I’m pretty sure they had these exact ones when I went to school here.”

“Long time?”

He turned and looked at her smirking face, eyebrows raising in appreciation of her quip.

“Ha ha, yeah, you little smartass,” he was grinning, “ now come and help me clean this up.”

She did and they ended up finding a wide broom in the closet, sweeping up the sand into a neat pile which El then scooped up with her mind and poured carefully back into the punctured bag. They pushed both it and the broken frame back into the storeroom, Hop mumbling something about calling the principal with an apology before switching off the lights and then tripping over another cart of basketballs in the dark. This time she caught the cart before he could break it and gently rolled it out of his way, snickering softly.

As they headed out of the now darkened gym towards the Blazer, he glanced over at her, an idea springing up in his mind.

“Hey, kid, do you like crime shows? Like with cops and murder and all that?”

“Um, I don’t know,” she shrugged, not sure how to answer since she hadn’t seen any.

“Well, there’s this show starting in a few months, I think it’s called, uh, something Vice? Looks kinda good…” he paused as they came up to the car, fiddling with his keyring, a bit unsure.

“Mmhm?”

“You wanna watch it sometime?”

There was a pause as he unlocked his door and hopped in, reaching across the seat to unlock the passenger door from the inside to let her in. She climbed into the beige SUV, automatically reaching up to grab her seatbelt and buckle it as he fiddle with the ignition, still waiting for an answer.

“Okay…” she turned to him and smiled deviously, “with ice cream?”

Occasionally when he would come over to the Byers’ house, he’d bring a carton of ice cream, something that always made Joyce roll her eyes and El smile widely. She really loved ice cream and he realized she was trying to extort him, her eyebrows quirked up high. He didn’t really mind.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you want, kid,” he rolled his eyes but he was smiling, amused.

She clapped her hands excitedly, not just for the ice cream, but the company too. The ride back was quiet, both humming quietly along to the Aerosmith song playing on the radio instead of trying to talk. His chief’s hat sat on the seat between them and she kept glancing at it until he finally reached over and grabbed it, plopping it onto her head with a half-smile as she gasped in delight. When they pulled up to the house she was still grinning broadly, Hop’s own face quirking with a satisfied expression.

Joyce was waiting for them in the kitchen, attempting to cook dinner and frowning down at the recipe and the raw chicken breasts that sat on a cutting board in front of her. There were several condiments and unopened bottles of spices scattered across the counter, and as the two walked in she whirled around excitedly to greet them.

“Hey, you two. How'd the, uh, punching lessons go?”

Hop shrugged and glanced down at El who smiled and nodded happily before skipping over to the fridge to get a glass of orange juice.

“I would say it went pretty well…” he thought about the decimated punching bag again and winced, “going to have to pay for that bag though…” he mumbled to himself.

“Do what?” She hadn't heard the last part, instead turning back to her task and the chicken.

“Uh, ah, nothing. She really… excelled. Wasn't expecting it. You might just have yourself a prize-winning boxer there.”

El looked up at him as she took a drink from her glass, eyes dancing in amusement at their shared secret. She came up beside Joyce, glancing curiously at the recipe and ingredients scattered across the counter.

“Help?”

“Yeah, honey, if you want to, um…” she frowned again as she read the directions, hand tentatively reaching for the mustard.

Joyce was an excellent mother and horrible cook. El had only been a Byers for a few months but even she had figured that out, and any time any of the children spotted their mother in the kitchen they would gravitate in and usually end up fixing the mess she was inevitably making. Jonathan was best at breakfast, Will knew how to make amazingly tasty, if not simple, sandwiches, and so far El had let Karen teach her the basics of meatloaf. But none of them really knew what to do with chicken, least of all Joyce, even though she was the one who had brought it home.

El read the recipe title aloud, brow creased in confusion.

“‘Easy Dijon Mustard Marinade’?” She blinked, not understanding half the words she’d just said, peering up at Joyce with curious eyes.

“What in the hell are you cooking, Joyce?”

Hop came up behind both of them, reaching down and snagging the recipe before either could object. He quickly scanned it, eyebrow raising slowly as he read the ingredients.

“You weren’t going to use _that_ mustard, were you?” He pointed at the innocent yellow bottle of French’s on the counter, giving Joyce a pointed look. She huffed.

“Does it matter? It’s just mustard.”

Hop looked offended, pointing back at the recipe earnestly, “It says _Dijon_ mustard, Joyce. You can’t use that stuff, it’ll ruin the flavor. And do you actually _own_ full cloves of garlic?”

“I was going to use garlic salt, that’s… kind of the same thing.”

Hop rested his hand on his temples, his face scrunching up in exasperation before licking his lips and sighing.

“Do you have mayonnaise?”

“Yes…” she said slowly, eyes narrowed and suspicious as he began to shuffle through her fridge, pulling out the mayo and opening the meat drawer to look for something else.

“What about parmesan cheese?”

“Um, we have the white powdery stuff…”

“You’re killing me, Joyce,” he turned to look at her with crooked grin, eyes teasing.

She threw her hands up in the air, stepping away from the counter and huffing again.

“Fine, _you_ figure it out then!”

Fumbling a cigarette out of her pocket she headed towards the door, leaving Hop and El staring after her. Hop looked a bit sheepish, coming over to the counter to set the mayo and cheeses he’d found down next to the chicken. El stared after her adopted-mother before turning back to Hop looking smug.

“What’s with the face, kid?”

“You make her… funny.”

“Hm?” He was busy trying to find a spatula.

“She gets red a lot. Pretends she’s angry but…. not angry.”

At that he paused, looking over at the small girl who was staring up at him, her eyes knowing, a small smirk on her lips.

“Like Mike gets sometimes,” she put her hands on her face, trying to illustrate the blush that crept up her favorite person’s face every time she smiled at him, “it’s funny.”

Hop understood what she was saying, feeling something weird and warm fill his chest as he glanced through the kitchen window at Joyce. She was standing on the porch with her cigarette, arms crossed and gazing across the yard, lost in some thought as she took another drag. He felt his ears suddenly get hot and quickly dragged his gaze back down at El, who was still looking at him smugly.

“Here, take this,” he coughed as he shoved the spatula into her hand.

It wasn’t something he was ready to talk about and she seemed to understand, but he couldn’t get her to wipe that smugness off of her face. Instead he distracted her by showing her how to cover the chicken breasts with the mayonnaise and then sprinkle parmesan and mozzarella shreds over them. He’d dug out some potatoes while she did that, giving them a quick rinse before slicing them neatly and laying them in the bottom of a glass pan. Joyce came in just in time to witness them sliding the dish into the oven.

“....about forty minutes, keep an eye on the time, okay?”

El nodded gravely, eyes fixed on the clock, calculating the time easily. She was pretty good at math.

“What did you guys make?”

Joyce came up behind her adopted-daughter and squeezed her shoulder fondly, looking at the mayonnaise smears and parmesan crumbles that now covered the counter before grabbing a rag with a sigh. She supposed since they made the food she could clean up.

“It’s just this parmesan chicken recipe. Super easy. Kids love it,” Hop shrugged.

He quickly came over to help her, scooping up dirty utensils and depositing them into the sink but she quickly shooed him away.

“You cooked. I clean.”

“Does that mean I’m invited to stay for dinner?”

“Hop, you made dinner,” she rolled her eyes at this attempt to be witty, “of course you can stay.”

El piped up from where she had been sitting at the table, carefully unraveling the tape that was still wound around her knuckles.

“Stay,” her hazel-browns were warm with appreciation, “Please?”

Looking between the slightly-frazzled woman and the small, intense girl who were both giving him looks that were borderline pleading, he let himself smile, genuinely smile, for the first time since November.

  
“Yeah… sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing bothers me more than the fact that hop betrayed her, honest to god. that's the biggest reason i could never get completely on board with "he becomes her new dad cause he needs a new daughter" kind of thing. i just don't trust him with her that much haha. but to each their own and here's a fic about my feelings and forgiveness. 
> 
> btw that parmesan chicken dish is genuinely delicious. 
> 
> up next is either nancy or dustin, but now that i say that it will probably be someone else ha.


End file.
